Yorkshire Lyrics Part 42

It may be soa,--aw'll net contend, &c.

Sometimes aw wonder what chaps think When shiverin wi' th' cold, Abaat th' bra.s.s at they've spent i' drink, Whear th' landlords caant ther gold.

They couldn't get a shillin lent, To buy a bit o' breead, Whear all ther wages have been spent,-- They'd get kickt aght asteead.

It may be soa,--aw'll net contend, &c.

Aw wonder if they'll leearn some day, At th' best friend they can find, When th' shop's shut daan, an stopt ther pay, Is ther own purse snugly lined?

Aw wonder, will th' time ivver come, When th' darkest day is done, When they can sing of Home Sweet Home.

An know they've getten one?

It may be soa, aw hooap it will, For then we'st all be free; When ivvery man's his own best friend,-- Gooid by to poverty.

A Safe Investment.

Yo fowk 'at's some bra.s.s to invest, Luk sharp an mak th' best ov yor chonce!

Aw'll gie yo a tip,--one o'th' best, Whear ther's profit an safety for once.

Yo needn't be feeard th' bank 'll brust, Or at onny false 'Jabez' will chait,-- Depend on't its one yo can trust, For th' balance sheet's sewer to be reight.

Yo've heeard on it oftimes befooar,-- But mooast fowk are apt to forget;-- Yet yo know if yo give to the poor, At yo're gettin the Lord i' yor debt.

Its as plain as is th' nooas o' yor face, An its true too,--believe it or net,-- It's a bargain G.o.d made i' this case, An He'll nivver back aght on't,--yo bet.

All th' wealth yo may have can't prevent Grim Deeath commin to yo some day; An yo'll have to give up ivvery cent, When yor time comes for gooin away.

But yo'll dee wi' a leetsomer heart, An for what yo leeav care net a straw, Earth's losses will cause yo noa smart, If i' Heaven yo've summat to draw.

Its useless to pray an to praich,-- Yo can't fill fowk's bellies wi' wynd; Put summat to ait i' ther raich, An then lectur em all yo've a mind; Ther's poor folk on ivvery hand, Yo can't shut yor ears to ther cry;-- A wail ov woe's sweepin throo th' land, Which may turn to a rooar by-an-bye.

Yo can't expect chaps who have wives, An childer at's clammin i'th' cold, To be patient an quiet all ther lives, When they see others rollin i' gold.

When th' workers are beggin for jobs, An th' helpless are starvin to deeath, It's just abaat time some o'th' n.o.bs Wor reminded they dooant own all th' eearth.

If ther duties they still will neglect, An ther pomps an ther pleasurs pursue, They may find when they little expect, 'At they've getten thersen in a stew.

Yo may trample a worm wol it turns,-- An ther's danger i' starvin a rat;-- A man's pa.s.sion inflamed wol it burns, Is a danger mooar fearful nor that.

But why should ther be sich distress, When ther's plenty for all an to spare?

Sewerly them at luck's blest can't do less Nor to help starvin fowk wi' a share.

Rich harvests yo'll win from the seed When theas welcome words fall on yor ear,-- "What yo did to th' leeast brother i' need, Yo did unto Me;--Come in here."

Red Stockin.

Shoo wor shoeless, an shiverin, an weet,-- Her hair flyin tangled an wild: Shoo'd just been browt in aght o'th street, Wi drink an mud splashes defiled.

Th' poleece sargent stood waitin to hear What charge agean her wod be made, He'd scant pity for them they browt thear, To be surly wor pairt ov his trade.

"What name?" an he put it i'th' book,-- An shoo hardly seemed able to stand; As shoo tottered, he happened to luk saw summat claspt in her hand.

"What's that? Bring it here right away!

You can't take that into your cell;"

"It's nothing." "Is that what you say?

Let me have it and then I can tell."

"Nay, nay! yo shall nivver tak this!

It's dearer nor life is to me!

Lock me up, if aw've done owt amiss, But aw'll stick fast to this wol aw dee!"

"No nonsense!" he sed wi a frown, An two officers speedily came; Shoo seem'd to have soberer grown, But shoo fowt like a fiend, just the same.

"Is it money or poison?" he sed,-- An unfolded it quickly to see; When sum in at fell aght,--soft an red, An it rested across ov his knee.

'Twor a wee babby's stockin,--just one, But his hard face grew gentle and mild, As he sed in his kindliest tone, "This stockin was worn by your child?"

"Yes, sir,--an its all at aw have To remind me ov when aw wor pure, For mi husband an child are i'th' grave;-- Yo'll net tak it throo me, aw'm sewer!"

"No, not for the world would I take Your treasure round which love has grown; Pray keep it for poor baby's sake;-- I once lost a child of my own."

And he folded it up wi much care As he lukt at her agonized face;-- A face at had once been soa fair, But nah bearin th' stamp ov disgrace.

"You seem soberer now,--do you think You could find your way home if you tried?"

"Oh! yes, sir! G.o.d help me! It's Drink At has browt me to this, sir," shoo cried.

"G.o.d help you! Be sure that He will; If you seek Him, He'll come to your aid; He is longing and waiting there still To receive you;--none need be afraid.

The mother whose heart still retains The love for her babe pure and bright, May have err'd, but the hope still remains That she yet will return. Now, Good night."

With his kindly words still in her ears, An that little red sock in her breast; Shoo lukt up to Heaven through her tears; An her faith, in Christ's love did the rest.

Plain Jane.

Plain Jane--plain Jane; This wor owd b.u.t.terworth's favourite strain: For wealth couldn't buy, Such pleasur an joy.

As he had wi his owd plain Jane.

Ther wor women who oft, Maybe, thinkin him soft, Who endeavoured to 'tice him away, But tho ther breet een, An ther red cheeks had been Quite enuffto lead others astray,-- All ther efforts wor lost, For he knew to his cost, 'At th' pleasur they promised browt pain, Soa he left em behind, Wol he went hooam to find, Purer pleasures i'th' arms o' plain Jane.

Plain Jane,--plain Jane,-- Owd b.u.t.terworth sed he'd noa cause to complain: Shoo wor hearty an strong, An could troll aght a song, An trubbles shoo held i' disdain, He'd not sell her squint For all th' bra.s.s i'th' mint, Nor pairt wi her blossomin nooas; He's no rival to fear, Soa he keeps i' gooid cheer, An cares nowt ha th' world comes or it gooas.

Cats are all gray at neet, Soa when puttin aght th' leet, As he duckt under th' warm caanterpain, He sed, "Beauty breeds strife Oft between man an wife, But it ne'er trubbles me nor awr Jane."

Plain Jane,--plain Jane,-- To cuddle and coddle him allus wor fain; Shoo wod cook, stew or bake, Wesh and scaar for his sake, An could doctor his ivvery pain.

Tho his wage wor but small Shoo ne'er grummeld at all, An if th' b.u.t.ter should chonce to run short; Her cake shoo'd ait dry, If axt why? shoo'd reply, Becoss aw know weel ther's nowt for't.

But th' harstun wor cleean, Tho th' livin wor meean, An her karacter hadn't a stain; An owd b.u.t.terworth knows, As his bacca he blows, Ther's war wimmen ith' world nor owd Jane.

Cash V. Cupid.

Aw dooat on a la.s.s wi' a bonny face, Wi' a twinkle ov fun in her ee;-- An aw like a la.s.s 'at's some style an grace, An aw'm fond o' one winnin an shy.

An ther's one 'at's a lot o' curly hair, An a temptinly dimpled chin, An one 'at's sedate an cold tho' fair, But shoo wod'nt be easy to win.

Ther's one 'at's a smile ivvery time we meet, An ther's one 'at seems allus sad; Yet ther's sum mat abaat 'em all seems sweet,-- Just a sum mat aw wish aw had.

But somha aw connot mak up mi mind, Which one to seek for a wife; An its wise to be careful if love is blind, For a weddin oft lasts for a life.

Ther's one 'at has nawther beauty nor wit,-- Just a plain lukkin, sensible la.s.s; But shoo's one thing 'at adds to her vally a bit,-- An that is 'at shoo's plenty o' bra.s.s.

An beauty will fade an een will grow dim, Ther's noa lovin care can help that; An th' smartest young woman, tho' stylish an slim, May i' time grow booath clumsy an fat.